Outside the Box
by Nikki-9-Doors
Summary: All those years you played against him, you only ever won a game once. A week later you drove up to Gideon's cabin and found the letter. You know now that he let you win. You should have known it then. Reid POV. Oneshot.


_~~~ No guarentees that this is any good, but it's an idea I've been playing with for a while. Hope you enjoy!_

_Reference episodes - 3 x 1, "Doubt" 3 x 2 "In Birth and Death" 3 x 3 "Scared to Death" 5 x 12 "Uncanny Valley" ~~~_

* * *

**_Letters are among the most significant memorial a person can leave behind them. ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_**

He was always pushing you to think outside the box.

All those years you knew him, and played against him, you only ever won a game once.

The last case you worked together was busy and hectic. There had been no time for a game back at the hotel or over lunch. You could tell Gideon was a little off - who wouldn't be, with their long-time friend recently murdered by Frank? - but he didn't seem really out of sorts until after that hopeless, desperate girl stabbed both herself and the UnSub she admired so much. Still, on the jet heading home he extended the offer of a game of chess, and you took him up on it.

Everyone was exhausted, and so it was that everyone was sleeping when you won. Your victory was quiet and went unnoticed. Gideon gave a small chuckle at the realization that you had him beat, and then he said, almost remorsefully, "Good work, Reid."

You watched him hoist himself up from the seat, heading towards the small bathroom.

"Another game?" you called out, your voice low so as not to wake the others.

"Give me some time to rest my mind," Gideon had replied, in that contemplative, worldly tone you'd come to know so well.

So it was that, a day later, you waited in Gideon's office, calling him - and failing to reach him - waiting to play another game of chess, until eventually you fell asleep and it was JJ who woke you up, ready to prepare the team for another case.

So it was that, barely a week later, you drove up to Gideon's cabin and found the letter, his credentials, and his gun.

You know now.

You know that he let you win.

You should have known it then.

[XYZ]

You haven't been to the park in a while, but you quickly fall back into the normal pattern. You give small nods of recognition to the young chess players - the teenage reincarnations of you - find an empty bench, lay your bag beside it and your books on your lap, then simultaneously begin reading and giving chess advice when its asked of you.

Behind you sits one of the chess players who has always been the most forward, the least intimidated by your FBI status. He's been playing against himself with exaggerated spins of the board and hits of the timer, so that you can tell, even without your BAU training, that he's hoping you'll notice his skill. You aren't oblivious to the fact that some of the younger, dorkier chess players look to you as a sort of god. This boy may not be _intimidated_ by your profession, but that doesn't mean he's not _impressed_.

"I see checkmate in five. What do you see?" he blurts now.

You look over, survey his board for a moment. In your mind's eye you watch the pieces advance in multiple ways. It doesn't take long for you to reply, "I see it in three."

You turn back to your book, pretending not to notice - although of course you do notice - as he gives you a dumbstruck look and then proceeds to carry out checkmate in three, just as you said.

"We've missed you out here," he tells you as he completes his game.

Humbled you answer, "Thank you, thanks," you try to finish your page and your thought, "I had to take a little break."

"How come?" it's a question born from discontentment; you honestly were missed.

And although you just threw out your last sentence as an offhand explanation, you realize now that you have to elaborate so you turn away from your book and begin, "I used to play with a co-worker friend of mine, probably the best mind I ever went up against." - you _know_ Gideon was the best mind you ever went up against - "One day he just decided that…he didn't want to play anymore."

The boy is unimpressed, "So you gave up too."

"Just the opposite," you answer, "I attempted to play through every premeditation of moves on a chessboard." You think of all those months you spent, every moment of free time - in your house, in a hotel room returned from a case - working through game after game, result after result, until you thought even your above-average mind couldn't handle it.

Your admission is met with disbelief. "That's an _infinite number _of games."

"It's not infinite, it's just - it's exponentially large."

"You couldn't have played through them all."

"There's an average of forty moves per chess game and I'll tell you something - the more I played, the more I realized that every single match, every single chess game, it's really just a simple variation on the exact same theme," you say the last three words slowly, taking in their truth. You're thinking out loud now as you add, "Aggressive opening, patient mid-game, inevitable checkmate," - so much like profiling, so much like catching an UnSub - "and I realized why my friend quit: he was tired of repeating the exact same pattern and expecting a different outcome."

And that's when you begin to remember.

[XYZ]

_-Two Years Ago-_

As you stand in a cabin surrounded by beautiful woods, in one of the most serene areas that could possibly be found in Washington DC, you remember the time when you missed the jet to Texas.

You promised Gideon you'd never miss it again. You just had to see if you could. You were dealing with your drug addiction then.

Now you stare down at a lengthy letter scrawled in familiar hand, and think how ironic it is that in the end, it was Gideon who missed the jet. Big time. And he'll be missing it every day, most likely for the rest of his life.

This hits you hard.

He can't have just up and left. How could he do that? How could he be so selfish? How can he possibly expect you to keep _your_ promise now?

You wonder if perhaps the letter was forced. Maybe someone - a disgruntled UnSub out on bail, a new UnSub obsessed with the legendary profiler - has abducted Gideon. Somehow, even that seems better than Gideon having left of his own free will. An abduction can be tracked. Solved. Resolved.

Running away cannot be.

You know what people think. You know everyone believes you view Gideon as a father figure. A fill-in for your own, out-of-the-picture dad. You do, just a little bit. And it's that little bit which is enough to get you to think, _two times_.

Twice you've been abandoned by a father.

Gideon _must _have realized that as he was driving away. You re-read the end of his letter in both disgust and disbelief. How can he claim to be looking for a "belief in happy endings" and leave you abandoned twice over? How can he expect for you to hold on to _your _belief in happy endings?

Suddenly you're bitter. A selfish, bratty part of you springs out. It's the same part of you that snapped at Emily and blamed JJ for your abduction. But you push it down and away, smother it. You have life to deal with.

Back at the office you find just who you wanted to find - Morgan - and you read the letter to him and Prentiss. You can feel the concern radiating off of them, almost enough for that awful part of you to jump out and inform them that, contrary to popular belief, you're not some little kid and you _can_ handle Gideon's departure just as adeptly and maturely as the rest of them. But you don't say anything. You let them worry. And you think.

Maybe you can go after Gideon.

Maybe you can find him.

Your mind begins spinning at hyper-speed. He's had a large head start. But you're smart. Your high IQ and profiling skills - surely they would make up for lost time. Surely you'd be able to figure out where Gideon went, where his travels took him. You're still thinking, still planning, as JJ tells you all that there's a new case.

And then Hotch walks in.

He doesn't know why Gideon left, but it's important for all of you to stay on task. Focus. Remember your jobs.

He doesn't say it but it's implied: remember yourselves. Remember your own lives. Be a little selfish, just as he has.

Yes.

Your life.

After all, if Gideon's decided to abandon you, why should you go after him? Obviously he doesn't care enough to think of the team, the job, the lives he affects by leaving. And what would you say - what would _he_ say - if you did manage to track him down?

He'd probably tell you that you've wasted your time.

He'd probably tell you to go away.

[XYZ]

In Oregon you and Emily walk around, canvassing the victim's neighbourhoods. She mentions Hotch is even more intense with Gideon gone.

_Understate things much? _You think. You just snort and tell her that you've noticed. You can feel that horrible part of you rising again. You marvel at how well Emily manages to make the horrible part of you show yourself. Does she know it?

She asks if you think it - Hotch's intensity - will change. And then she asks if you're ok.

"Oh, I'm great," you assure her, somewhat snidely.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" she inquires.

"What's there to talk about?" you murmur. You know if she pushes you one more time, you'll snap, and then everyone will know - at least, she'll know - that you're not on top of it, that you're not handling it as well as you wish you were. And you'll just be proving her and Morgan right. You'll just be showing her that, obviously, there is just reason for them to worry. Obviously, you can't deal with this as well as the rest of them.

"Gideon," she prompts.

That's all it takes.

"Oh no, he left a letter - explaining everything! Just like my dad did, when he abandoned me and my mom," you smirk, both at the memory of that letter your dad left - much shorter than Gideon's - and Emily's face - pure pity.

"He addressed it to you," she says softly. Like that justifies everything.

"Yeah, yeah. You know, Gideon stood toe-to-toe with some of the sickest people on this planet…I think it took a lot of courage, right?"

Emily nods, "Yeah." Good. One of your many theories just may be right.

"So, why'd he do this?" you pull out the letter, which you've been keeping on you, "It's addressed to me, but I'm not the only one he abandoned…" you begin thinking, working yourself up to your grand conclusion - that Gideon's a coward. That Jason Gideon, for all his worth, is just a coward. He only left the letter for you, but that doesn't make you feel better. If anything, it makes you feel worse. Immature, again. Hotch once said that Gideon introduced you as "doctor" to make others look at you with respect. But the letter is almost an insult. As if you're the only one who wouldn't understand. Or maybe, the only one who would readily forgive him. Well you're not. You're not going to forgive him.

Emily speaks quickly, to distract you, the same way she might speak to an UnSub about to kill himself. "_Why_ is it addressed to you?"

You give her a strange look - does she want to hear your petty reasons?

"I think you need to read that letter again."

"I have an eidetic memory, Emily." you tell her snottily.

She rolls her eyes, "Yeah, I know, and an IQ of 187, but what do you remember about your father?"

The question is like a slap: "What do you mean?"

"He gave you ten years before he left, and yet you've erased all those memories." The accusation hurts. It wakes you up a little bit. That awful part of you should be fighting back but it's not - it's listening. "It's too painful, I get it, but then Gideon leaves - I think you need to read that letter again and ask yourself why, of _all_ the people he walked away from, did he only explain himself to one person?" a pause, _"You."_

It's almost like Emily understands. It's almost like she's a little hurt too. And you begin to wonder if the concern and pity you were getting from her, which you mistook for an almost motherly superiority, is bigger than that. If maybe it's genuine care.

And maybe Gideon's letter isn't an insult. Maybe it's a privilege. Looking at Emily, you wonder if she isn't just a bit offended that _she_ didn't get an explanation.

You know your original thought was correct. Driving away, Gideon must have realized that he was leaving you abandoned a second time.

He must have felt that his letter was enough.

You look down at it, and think of your vow a few moments before - that you're not going to forgive him.

_Is_ it enough?

[XYZ]

_-Present Day-_

Words startle you back to reality.

"So you have a lifetime of chess strategy in your head, and you're just sitting on it." There's some resentment in the boy's tone; the felt superiority of a too-smart teen. He draws out his last few words, swinging them off like they're nothing.

"I still use it," you assure him, as your phone buzzes and you see that it's JJ with a case, "I just uh…I apply it differently." You shake yourself out of the haze you're in, a mix of too-much reading, too-much chess talk, and too-much delving into the past. It's time to focus. There's a case.

"I have to go," you say, grabbing your bag and tucking your books under your arm, "It's good seeing you."

As you leave you can feel his eyes on your back, watching you go. You can't help but feel a pang. As though you've abandoned him. You wonder how your father and Gideon managed to leave so easily.

[XYZ]

When Gideon left it would have been easy to slip back in to your druggie habits. It had been a while since you last shot up but that didn't stop you from half-heartedly considering it. After all, doing it took all thoughts away. And furthermore, it was something to do.

But instead you re-read Gideon's letter, over and over, so many times that the creases became worn from folding and unfolding and the ink began to fade. You always kept it in your bag, until one day when you had it out on the table, and some coffee sloshed on it.

After that you decided you shouldn't take it with you everywhere.

You considered burning it, but in the end you folded it one last time and slipped it between the pages of the magazine with you and Lila on the cover. And you slipped the magazine back into your bottom desk drawer, with papers, pencils, calculations, magic trick supplies, and various other items piling up on top of it.

Out of sight out of mind.

The problem was your memory.

Your damn eidetic memory.

Which is why, in the end, you sent it to your mother. Another letter for her to keep, amongst all the other letters of yours that she kept. You explained to her that she probably wouldn't understand it, but she could have it anyway.

As far as you know, she still has it.

Hundreds of kilometres away, and sometimes, that letter still chases after you.

But not often.

[XYZ]

In the conference room, on the jet, in Atlantic City, your mind is caught up on Gideon. You and the team haven't discussed him in so long, but speaking about him with that boy in the park gives you a strange desire to. You don't bring him up - somehow, you know it's better not to - but it fuels you, it's what makes you stand up to that doctor, accuse him of the crime you know he's guilty of.

Child molestation.

And attempting to get his daughter to forget about it.

Because if there's one thing you've come to know as fact -

People don't forget. Children in particular. And they especially don't forget the bad things.

[XYZ]

Back at home, the case solved, your mind races. Different topics spin in and out of focus as your big brain goes over them and dismisses them. Playing chess in the park as a kid. Playing chess with Gideon. Gideon. Playing chess. Playing chess in the park _now_.

In the end, the truth is you're not mad at Gideon. You have forgiven him. Or maybe you were never real mad at him to begin with. After all, you understand. Because there's that horrid part of you that's selfish and bratty, and that's the part that identifies with the Gideon who left.

Maybe Gideon was a coward. Or maybe not. He at least had enough care to write to you, to explain why - _care_, not negligence, not nonchalance. He cared what you thought of him. He cared that you'd feel abandoned. He tried to take away from that a little bit, but in the end, he had to do what he had to do.

He _had_ to be a little bit selfish.

So, like a serial killer you eventually have to admit is just not going to be captured, you've given up on finding Gideon. However, he's not forgotten; if he ever did something to bring attention to himself, then you, like you would be upon the serial killer who finally left a fingerprint after twenty clean kills, would be upon Gideon in an instant, approaching, taking in, questioning. Then, finally, there would be peace of mind. A conclusion.

You told Morgan once that you knew what it was like to be afraid of your own mind. And you do, but not just because of what you could forget, or what you could begin to think was true when it wasn't; because sometimes, your greatest fear is that you'll never forget.

But until that day - if that day ever does arise - you will go on as you always have before. Living just fine. Only, you could never abandon someone.

Which means you have something to attend to.

[XYZ]

You're glad to see the boy is there, almost right were you left him, although days have passed.

Examining his board you say, "Checkmate in twelve."

He shakes his head, "No way."

So you sit down.

And you show him.

Around the park people mill around, some coming closer to watch the game, others going on with their days and their lives. Somewhere out there, Gideon is going about his life, maybe with new friends, maybe on his own, hopefully with a renewed belief in happy endings.

But here, in this park, you're happy to play chess. You think of every game you played with Gideon, and how you only won once. That's not right, though. The truth is, you won every time. You won every time your mentor pushed you to think outside the box. You won every time you pushed yourself to envision and figure out another chess strategy.

The twelfth move is made. Checkmate.

Just like you said.

**_In the practical use of our intellect, forgetting is as important as remembering. ~ William James_**


End file.
